


Plummeting Into Love

by Gnarled_Bone



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Reader is forced to be short, Reader-Insert, Self-Insert, Victoria likes butts, also short/tall dynamics, because she's awesome and that's just the right size to hug her, curse words, somewhat angsty, story takes place when you're eighteen, you fall a lot, you're as tall as Kate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:26:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5260742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnarled_Bone/pseuds/Gnarled_Bone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time you fall, it's because your parents wanted you to put up Christmas lights and the roof was a bit too steep to play nice to you and your clumsiness. It's just luck that you roll off and fall, embarrassingly, right in front of a mismatched trio: a very worried, sacrosanct girl with a bun, a surprised hipster, and a guffawing, intimidatingly hot, blue-haired punk. The other times are just because you can't help but fall for people—or, that's what you'd like to say, anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of request/idea from my best friend (AN EVIL, SINFUL PERSON, WHEREAS I AM GAY SATAN).

Snow drizzles down onto your nose. Your fingers are cold because screw being a responsible adult—you're an idiot and you left your gloves in the house. The cords are not compliant to your icicle fingers, and you struggle to attach it to the corners of the roof.

The Christmas lights were off because you didn't plug them in yet, being easier to maneuver when you weren't worried about pulling them out of the plug-in every five seconds. You'd get to that when you were safely on the ground, and not on the roof because of your parents' insistence to "get out, do something".

But it turns out you'd be getting to that sooner that you thought. Fumbling with the cord, your knees shifting to twist your body around, you find yourself slipping on the snow and face planting onto the roof. You groan, and then notice, suddenly, that you are still slipping, but downwards. With a somewhat muffled squeal, you find yourself scrambling, pulling on the wires in your desperation to avoid the fall, but that only helps to further your descent and send you sliding sideways when your foot kicks outwards and displaces your already imperfect balance. Faintly, your ears acknowledge voices below, but you're already rolling off the edge and landing with an "oof" into your front yard, tangling in unlit Christmas lights.

You're facing your house, and your face burns in mortification when you hear laughter. You roll over, and to amuse yourself and try to be smooth you pose like a model on the frosty blanket, aching but planting an elbow into the snow and lifting your head with it, and you bend a leg, planting a hand onto your hip loosely. And then you ruin the whole thing by widening your eyes, and stuttering out a mumbled, "fine", totally forgetting the _I'm_  in that sentence, at the sight of the three before you.

Oh god, you just humiliated yourself in front of two very cute—and one very, very, _hot—_ girls.

The one with the cute bun comes over while you're distracted by the blue-haired punk, who's seriously lacking in winter protection and who is emitting a series of really nice laughs at the sight of you, red faced, bent over and beginning to heave since she can't catch her breath. You're sure you're red for two reasons to her one.

Ugh, you're so embarrassed.

The hipster is laughing at you too, you notice, freckled cheeks dimpling with her giggles.

"Are you okay?" the fluffy bun-wielding girl asks you, bending down with her knees, not her back. She doesn't offer to pull you up, not yet, but she does help untangle you from your mess. "You didn't break anything, did you? That looked like it hurt. . ."  
   
Immediately, you think _saint_ and numbly nod your head, even though your cheek hurts from the cold landing.

Her company, you notice, begins to taper off into amused silence, but come over. You think, _oh no_ , too, because the punk is taller than you thought, standing up straight, and her eyes are seriously, seriously pretty, along with the rest of her—made up of sharp, angular lines that you feel are usually jagged with anger, but have smoothed in content.

The saintly girl holds out her hand, and wow, is it soft, as she pulls you up. You stand about at the same height as her, maybe a teensy bit shorter.

You fidget with yourself, and manage to say, "Thanks, sorry you had to see, uh. . . see that. Yeah."

The hand that is still holding yours is removed, only to shift and brush off the snow coating your jacket. You stay still. The punk and hipster move closer, and you can tell you're about six inches shorter than the one who doubled over at your mishap. You recognize the only girl who looks like a bad influence as the daughter of the Two Whales Diner waitress.

"Dude, that was hilarious!" the punk says, until the hipster buries a bundled up elbow into her stomach. It's hardly effective, but the taller girl pretends to double over. "Ow, what the hell, Max? You were laughing too!" she defends herself, pouting at the now named Max.

Your eyes flick between the three, and you finally place them all. Chloe Price, who was found in the bathroom with her long lost best friend Max Caulfield, who was shot, and Kate Marsh who managed to put Jefferson into jail for his shitty, fucked up crimes and get Nathan Prescott in a place where he could get the help he needed in mental hospital, supported by his sister. You know this because you hungrily watched the news, watching, watching the monster get his dues and wishing he got worse.

You feel somewhat inadequate, standing next to them in you haphazardly thrown on clothing, while Kate looks professional and cute in a thick winter jacket, and Max sports ear muffins and classical hipster clothing, and Chloe simply rocks her punk outfit, leather, hooded jacket lined with cotton to keep her warm and beanie tucked over her ears. 

"Sorry about that," Max says, rolling her eyes at Chloe when she sticks her tongue out. "and for laughing." Max herself looks a little embarrassed at her actions.

You know you'd laugh too, especially since it was _you_ , so you forgive her quickly, mussing your hair nervously. "It's cool."

Chloe lets out a snort, and nearly begins to snicker again. "Jesus, dude, that pose was _amazeballs_."  
  
You notice Kate give Chloe a stern look that prompts a half-hearted apology, but you're too busy blushing and shaking your head. "No, it really wasn't." you mutter, and they don't really hear. That's fine.

"Anyways," Chloe shifts the topic. "Why the hell were you up there?"

Mutely, you gesture to the sections of Christmas lights that came down with you. "Mom and Dad decided I couldn't just stay inside all day, and threw me out on the roof to, uh, 'get in the Christmas spirit'. It's going fabulous, as you can see." you snark jokingly, and then berate yourself, feeling stupider by the second.

They smile at you—well, Chloe  _smirks_ , and you're obviously smitten by it, judging by the sudden sirens in your head—and you feel somewhat better about your attempt at humor. 

It's Max's turn to speak, and she does so with an amused grin. "Maybe you should leave the roof climbing to Saint Nick. He's been at it longer."

That elicits a near laugh from you, but instead you just smile widely and nod. "Guess so." You look at them, becoming curious as to why they were waltzing down your street. They were walking towards the woods, or maybe the lighthouse, as far as you could tell, not towards Blackwell or the Two Whales. "So. . . what are you up to, to have you witness my embarrassing holiday moments?"

They look at each other. Kate's the one who pipes up, "We're going to the lighthouse." She fingers the strap of her backpack. "I was going to draw Max and Chloe for the Everyday Heroes contest, since. . . well, since _Jefferson_."

That's probably going to be the only time you hear Kate hiss out a word so hatefully.  
   
Kate and Chloe look uncomfortable, but Max seems to both pale and darken at the same time. There's something in Max's eyes that swirls, twisting into a storm, and you get the feeling that she's been more than just shot in a bathroom.  

You shift in response to the tense atmosphere, lifting your foot and sort of kicking it back, then dropping it. You don't know what to say, but you don't want to say 'sorry', because that doesn't change anything, never changed anything for you. You get a knot in your chest at the thought of how much it failed to correct the sheer mess that your life is. So instead, you decide to go with your gut. "Thanks."  
  
The three look at you in surprise. "For what?" Max asks.

You clear your throat, and say firmer this time. "For getting rid of that _fucker_. If you guys hadn't stepped up, if you guys weren't brave, he would have gone unnoticed, and no one would know what kind of psychopath he is. At least the people he hurt, and the people connected to them, can get closure." You're hit pretty hard by your own words and you go quiet, then. Saying just that exhausted you, but maybe one day you'll get past it.

They're too surprised, at first, to say anything. Max is frozen, and Chloe's mouth is agape. Kate, poor Kate, looks lost for words, and you think that if she wasn't she'd be getting on to you for your language. Her eyes seem shinier than they were moments before, glistening with a sheen that puts you off guard because,  _uh-oh_ , you didn't mean to make her cry, and you were always helpless when it came to people crying. So, with awkwardness that clearly shows on your face, you mutter something unintelligible, probably a 'well, I've got to get back to falling off roofs', and you go to turn around, reluctantly, when a shadow drops over you and Chloe is turning you right back around.

She's so close that it's a shock, and your breath comes out in a frosty puff of surprise. Her eyes are entirely too blue for you, and your legs lock up. In that instant, you feel exhilarating fear, because she's baring down at you with the extra inches whatever deity above gifted her with, and you could throw up from the anxiety.

She doesn't talk at first. You somehow manage to glance around her and notice Max and Kate watching. Both their eyebrows are raised, and Kate has this wet streak going across one cheek that makes you worry, but she's already wiping it away and smiling. Max has her arms around Kate, and her eyes are narrowed at you in some emotion that you decide is curiosity, hopefully, and not anything that implies ill will for making Kate cry.

The hand around your shoulder clenches lightly and brings your eyes back to Chloe's. You don't think you can look away this time, even when the hand lifts off your shoulder hesitantly, and the irritatingly tall person is looking less certain of herself. She takes the smallest step back. It takes you a second to register what she says, because at this angle, she surely can't tell if you're staring at her eyes or her lips. Both are entirely too distracting for their own good.

"What?"  
  
Chloe's eyebrows furrow. She opens her mouth again, but Max is the one to repeat her words, smugly, knowing that interrupting Chloe pisses her off. "Come with us," Max says, Kate leaning into her and bearing hopeful eyes at you. "to the lighthouse. It'd be awesome to have you with us, o' balanced one."

"What Maxi-pad said," Chloe's face sharpens with fond anger, jutting out her bottom lip, though her tone is light, and you focus on the color of her eyes before you figure out you're supposed to respond. You snicker when Max emits a sound of rage—'we've just met her and you're already giving out my embarrassing nickname?'—and you nod. 

"Yeah! Yeah, sure; I mean, if that's okay." you blurt out, before ducking your head a little, finally tearing your gaze from Chloe to look at the ground. God, you always get too loud when you're excited.

Chloe rolls her eyes. "If it wasn't, we wouldn't ask, nerd." Behind her, Max and Kate voice their agreement.

"Come with us, please?" Kate asks.

Blushing up until you _know_ the tips of your ears are red, and not just from the cold, you jerkily nod your head, before rushing into your house with a 'hang on!' because you've got to tell your parents and change, because no way are you going with them in the clothes you're in now, and when you come out, their faces light up. It surprises you that they really do want you to come and that you can _tell_ , just by their expressions.

It's near the edge of the woods, leading to the path to the lighthouse, that Kate falls somewhat behind and fills in the space beside you. Chloe and Max are too busy to truly notice, wrapped up in each other and cracking up over some inside joke between the two. They look good together, like they fit, and you feel out of place until Kate brushes against you.

You burn when Kate wraps her arm around the crook of your elbow, whispering a 'thank you' into your red ear, and it's funny to think that your thoughts are far from holy when her breath tickles you.

You feel like a witch.

* * *

The walk to the light house is somewhat strenuous, because you haven't been keeping up with your physical fitness when there's no one you care to challenge, compete, and compare yourself against, but you don't feel bad about it because you notice Kate's still hanging onto you and doing just about as well when it comes to maintaining her breath. Chloe's puffing ahead, somewhat, and you can tell it's because she smokes more than she ought to when she brings out a pack of cigarettes and lights the cancer stick she put between her lips. Max seems the best out of you all, but she's breathing harder than usual too. You didn't think she was the type to be active, but it goes to show to not put any stock in first impressions.  
  
You've never really been to the lighthouse, in all your time in Arcadia Bay. It's weird when you think about it. Alexis and you had usually roamed the shore of Arcadia Bay, piercing your feet when pointy rocks and broken seashells found their way onto the surface of the beach. Like a shock, it comes to you that Alexis is still gone. Your eyes close, and it's totally your fault when you stumble and end up falling into Kate with a yelp. It's surprising when she manages to catch and stabilize you before your second fall resulted in another make-out with the snow glossed ground.

She giggles, and you blush.

"Does this happen all the time?" she asks, arms loose around your waist. "I get the feeling it does."

Your face grows hotter, and you're jokingly indignant. "Hey! I'm not always this clumsy, it's just. . ." and you're at a loss for words for a moment. "I honestly don't have an excuse. I just am that clumsy." Around pretty girls, anyways.

Kate breaks out into loud laughter, this time, and it's refreshing because within the short time you've known her, she's the type to be soft-spoken. It catches the attention of Chloe and Max, and they look back with a grin. Chloe waggles her eyebrows at Max, puffing smoke from her cigarette, before they turn around to watch their steps.

You find the chance to retaliate. "Does your laugh always sound that cute?" you lightly tease. "I get the feeling it does." 

Kate clamps up, and she's a Christian tomato. She'd be choking if she just had the sounds to go with it.

You cock an eyebrow, but with that wide smile splitting your face it just offsets your entire expression and Kate's forced to laugh again at the ridiculousness. You giggle too.

Kate manages to regain herself enough to latch onto you again and drag you, like you're a mischievous child she doesn't have the heart to punish, to catch up with the two ahead of you. You're entirely too pleased with yourself when she keeps that larger than normal smile on her face, eyes conveying her happiness.

The view is breathtaking, at the top, and you wish you and Alexis had gotten to see it before. . . well. Kate stares at you, catching the moment that she had missed when you tripped, and asks, quietly, if you're okay. You blink and smile, and say, "Yeah," because you've got no reason not to be, because you know now. It's easier to say you are, anyways, than you aren't. It's wrong to pretend, but you can't help yourself. You shake it off and think, 'move on'.

Chloe and Max and Kate are lit up, the glow of the sun highlighting their silhouettes, and you hold back just for a moment to try and memorize it, because you're neither an artist nor a painter, and your best skill is probably playing video games, so you capture the moment in your head and you feel like you're seeing the epilogue to a series you've never played, because they each have their own story lines and battles that you weren't there for. They've got this aura about them, that pulls them together, like they revolve around each other in a mutual coexistence. You get the feeling that Max is the sun, as Kate slings her backpack around to pull out her camera and art materials—because she needs the picture for the contest, but the sketch for herself—and Kate and Chloe are the planets that revolve around her, brighter because she's there, because there's this link between them, this string that loops around only them. You don't know why it's Max, but it is. All together, they're in sync.

They're like you and Alexis, together, a symbiotic relationship.

But now you're alone.

Your expression falls and you build it back up. You're just the stranger who fell off a roof and rolled into their lives. You're just an entertaining sideshow that they chanced upon. Now that you think about it, they don't even know your name. You can slip out just as easily as you entered, and that feels worse than any stubbed toe or table-corner-meet-knee incident. You don't buckle, of course, but you're just waiting for the moment you go back to your room in your parent's house, an eighteen year old who had her life ahead of her, planned out to ride alongside Alexis', but now the train has derailed from the tracks.

Chloe and Max settle onto the bench, and when Kate moves in front of them, you move to get beside her, with your secrets hidden from your expression, to get out of her way. Kate's slightly to the right, using the rule of thirds, while Max leans on Chloe, and you can tell that their exhaustion is real. That week must have been terrible for them, all of them. It was for you, too, but you don't think your pain compares to theirs at all.

The click of a moment cemented fills your ears. "Got it?" Chloe asks, an odd sort of quiet enveloping her voice, a tone you yourself usually use when reflecting on the past.

Kate nods, and pulls out a blanket to sit on. She pats the spot beside her. "Sit down—" she pauses. Her cheeks pink with embarrassment, and Chloe swears while Max looks upset with herself.

"Oh Dog, I'm so sorry! We dragged you up here and we didn't even ask for your name. "

You want to laugh at the irony, remembering the thoughts you had just moments beforehand, but instead you find the corner of your lips pulling up at their awkwardness. Kate looks beside herself with worry that she has offended you, but they all seem pretty attentive when you open your mouth to give a title to your existence.

"My name is—" and you say it. 

Their faces lift, and they mouth your name—you don't understand the point; maybe it's to help them remember? But why would they?

You blush with Kate when Chloe breathes it out suggestively, forehead creasing when her blonde eyebrows jump at the implied perverseness in her tone. Max laughs and bumps her with a shoulder, her own pair of blue eyes sparkling to match her best friend's.

On the way back, after the three of you coo and express praise at Kate's art skills, flustering the sweet girl, you're at the back of the pack, going down the path from the lighthouse to the town, still feeling like you're the third (fourth?) wheel, when Chloe slips from the two with some muttered words. Your stomach feels like the inside is being tickled with fluff, and you can't scratch it.

Chloe smirks at you, the corners of her eyes creasing from the genuineness of the action.

"Give me your number."

You balk at her demand, caught off guard.  _What?_ This went against all your previous assumptions as to what would happen between the four of you. You expected to go home, already prepared to be forgotten.

"My. . . my number?" 

"Yeah, nerd, your number." she huffs out, laughing. "How else are we going to keep in touch with you?"  
  
You lose your voice, so you answer by way of pulling out your phone. She gives you her number, and you send her a message. Chloe reads it and snickers. 

 **Unknown:**   _Nerd? @n@_

The punk types in a response.

 **Hot Giant:** _NO EMOJI._ _by the by, ur roofgirl in my contacts_ _  
_

You groan.


	2. Rolling Hills and Wet Weekends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're with Max the second time. You manage to score a hand-holding session, but the circumstances surrounding the nice experience could be better. The end though. . .
> 
> Let's hope you're not murdered in your sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So glad to see you guys enjoying this! It makes my precious buddy and I so happy to see you guys like our word baby. :)

There's the quiet munching of oatmeal between teeth as you sit with the homeless lady behind the Two Whales Diner. It's the weekend, and you've been helping Joyce out simply because you honestly need something to do aside from gaming, and she's always been pretty nice. You don't ask for pay—she gives you free breakfast and that's sweet enough, since you give most of it to your hobo friend. Joyce's cooking is to die for—not literally, of course, but perhaps if it was the apocalypse and you were starving. . .

Anyways, your very own Jane Doe is dunking her donuts in the coffee you snatched for her. She never gave you her name, so you settle with calling her Jane Doe, after one of Max's many deer shirts. You see her wearing them around Blackwell often, but you don't think she sees you. You never paid attention to them, and neither they you, until the bathroom incident.

"So, kid, how was your holiday?" Jane Doe asks, face placid but eyes warm.

"It went pretty well, aside from falling off a roof." you answer casually. "But hey! I got to meet new people."

Jane Doe shifts to glance over you. "A roof? You kids these days. . ." She shakes her head when you laugh and smiles. "Tell me about these new people."

Jane Doe doesn't have much to do in her time, sitting amongst the leftovers of those wealthier. You know this, and so you tell her about your life during a few visits, exaggerating your dorkiness somewhat, but only by dragging it out with more words than necessary. You don't have to pretend you're clumsier than you are—you're at maximum capacity in that area, and that needs no added hyperbole on your part. You suppose it's like having a book read to you, and you sometimes hope it's as interesting to her as you try to make it out to be. Sometimes, she feels more kin to you than your own parents—less shitty, too. She doesn't want something from you, even though you think she should, even though you could understand it coming from a person in her position.

So you tell her about how you fell off the roof. She listens intently to your retelling of how you found yourself precariously positioning electrical vines decorated with flashy, festive lights, and snorts at the way you fumble and fall, and outright chuckles when you describe your landing. Her thin frame shakes from her mirth as you describe the way you position yourself before your three new acquaintances.

"You left a long-lasting impression on those girls, no doubt." she laughs at your misfortune.

You snort. "'No doubt.' I bet they'll always have that image in their head whenever they see me. Not my best moment, I admit, but I made do." You shrug carelessly.

You're holding a doughnut in one hand, and the pitter-patter of paws catches your attention. From around the side of the diner, a dog with a leash gone unchecked catches sight of the two of you. It's brown and shaggy, and you recognize it as that scruffy drug dealer's, Frank.

You don't care much about him, although you know he had something to do with the drugs Nathan and Jefferson had used. He seemed pretty torn up since Rachel was found in the junkyard, and you admit you feel kind of bad for him, especially since you stopped hearing about him selling his junk to people in Arcadia Bay.

His dog was a different story.

Smiling brightly, you hold out the doughnut, lightly glazed. The dog's ears perk up, and approaches more cautiously than it does shyly. It's unafraid of you, and you toss the doughnut to it. It snatches it up like a professional golden retriever with a Frisbee.

Jane Doe raises an eyebrow, sidled beside you but leaning over companionably for a moment. "Fan of dogs?"

"Fan of animals," you correct. You can deal with them more than you can people usually.

The dog trots towards you, sniffing for more treats, but you give the rest to Jane Doe and stand. It pauses, and you notice it's a male. You hold out your palms easily to show they're empty, and his ears lower from disappointment. You wipe your palms on your jeans and stand, wishing you wore tights underneath them because of the cold. "Sorry, boy. No more sweets for you to nosh on."

Jane Doe watches you from her seat on the grimy wall. You smile, seeing her huddled into the blanket you brought for her weeks ago. It was still doing its job, and you are glad for it. "Leavin', kid?"

"Yeah. Gonna help Joyce some more before heading out. I've got homework I need to tackle before school starts back up, and I've procrastinated long enough." you sheepishly explain.

Your friend mutters about your bad habits, turning back to her favorite past time, contemplation, and you fight back a snicker. The dog shuffles, sniffing at some trash cans, and you approach it cautiously.

"Hey, boy," you murmur. "You've got a leash on for a reason, y'know? We oughta get you back to your owner before he comes howling for  _you_. I would rather not have him on my back, thank you very much, sir."

You swear the dog's staring at you like you're an idiot, but he doesn't snap at you for reaching for his leash. He watches you pick it up, then turns away without haste, bouncing back with no concern to you and your speed. You jog slightly to keep up, short legs trying to keep up with his four. You wind around the diner and hook his leash to the dirty RV parked in front in time for Frank to come out and see you.

His face darkens, seeing you with his dog, but he doesn't stomp, so you count that as a plus as he strides over to confront you. You step away from his dog and wield your raised palms like premature white flags, already surrendering the battle. You do  _not_ want to get on his bad side.

"What the hell are you doing with Pompidou?" When you don't answer fast enough, he presses closer, circling you until your back is to the diner and he's in between you and his dog. "Answer me!"

You honestly flinch, and you don't care to hide it. There's no shame in being afraid of a guy who looks like he excels in burying bodies. "I just found him, I  _swear_. He walked around to the back of the diner. He had his leash on, and I knew he was yours, so I brought him back here. Pinkie swear!" You hold out your pinkie to emphasize the truth in your words, and it shakes a little.

Frank eyes you suspiciously, somewhat bewildered (but that's probably because it's  _you_ ) but Pompidou isn't jumping or growling at you, so that must mean you're not on his shit list today. He relinquishes his narrow gaze and tight expression, shifting. He doesn't say sorry but you can't say you expected him to. "Pompidou usually doesn't like strangers," he muses.

"I fed him a doughnut!" you blurt out. And then you hope Frank isn't picky about what his dog eats. "No chocolate, just glazed, and only one!"

The former drug dealer's expression is incredulous at your sudden outburst, eyebrows raised. Pompidou's ears shoot up, and he bumps into Frank as his tail wags.

"Okay, kid, cool it with your spazzy. . . shit. Christ. I'm not going to kill you." This time, Frank looks vaguely apologetic.

You eye him disbelievingly, widening your eyes to convey your concern. "You promise?" You wiggle your pinkie insistently.

His face twists mockingly. "Yeah, yeah, promise—now stop looking at me like that!"

You pinkie goes spastic, and your shaking is probably what gets him because he eventually groans out a, "Are you fucking serious?" and loops his coarse pinkie around yours.

You let your eyelids relax because keeping them all doe-eyed is actually exhausting, and breathe a sigh of relief as you drop your hand. "Okay, cool."

He snorts and lets his hand fall on Pompidou, rubbing the fur of his neck. He watches you and looks thoughtful. You think he licks his teeth, but he doesn't open his mouth, not until he has something to say. "Thanks, I guess, for bringing Pompidou around. Not that I was too worried, but the idiots around here could've tried something. Animal cruelty and all that."

"Uh," you eloquently respond. "You're welcome?"

He has that look on his face again, the mocking one, but it's not aggressive so you guess it's fine. He turns away, opening the door to his RV and tosses a hand up, saying, "See you, kid."

Pompidou hops in behind him, and he pulls the door shut. You blink as it clunks, and a minute later the RV starts up, smoke coming out of the muffler. You want to cough for a second at the sight of it. Both he and his dog are gone before you feel like you're inhaling fumes. You stare after them in the cool morning, ice lining the pavement surrounding Two Whales Diner, and feel content.

You turn to go back around the diner, needing to pick up the dishes you left with Jane Doe so Joyce didn't have to, and you notice someone familiar in the window. They're watching you with a smile, gray jacket resting on their shoulders and hood down. It's Max, and she flashes her hand earnestly in greeting.

You don't remember her being so outgoing before the shooting, but you're still stuck on the fact that she cares to wave at you from the diner window. Somewhat shyly, you return the wave, and walk in when she motions you to come inside.

When you reach her booth, she smiles bright, and calls your name.

"Hey," she says, "What are you doing here?"

"Just helping out Joyce—I come here during the weekends when I can."

"Really?" Max looks surprised. "I wish Chloe would've mentioned you. Maybe we could've been friends sooner."

This takes you aback. Friends? It's been about a year since you last had one, it feels like—since you've talked about senseless things but it all seemed like it mattered anyway. The most you've had is lab partners, acquaintances. Still, you don't get your hopes up that Max could maintain the status of a friend. You remember how hard it was for others when you withdrew those few months.

You've seen them; there's peace now, for her and you.

Rattling your mental space to shake the thoughts away, you merely smile awkwardly at Max and nod minutely.

She laughs at you. "Déjà vu."

"What?"

She shakes her head. "I see little me in you." She sounds like a dork, cute and comfortable with speaking to you like that.

You're not following. "Little you?"

"I use to be really awkward, kind of like you." she says, lightly. "It's strange, but. . . kind of adorable. Maybe I'm narcissistic." There's something hidden, secret, showing up in her expression again, but it's too fast, gone too quickly, for you to bring it up. "Or maybe it's just you." she teases.

That makes you red. Or maybe pink. You feel more red though, from the heat, and your mouth falls open, trying to release words when you don't have any.

Max almost laughs again, but she's quick to get up from her booth, eyes lighting up with an idea—

"Come with me, to the woods."

You fumble as she tugs on your sleeves. "What?"

"Please? You'd be a great model for some shots, and it's been awhile since I felt like I could hold a camera again."

If anything, this makes your blood heat up more, and it makes you stutter, halfway through a protest because she asked  _you_ , instead of Chloe, instead of Kate, instead of anyone else, but she's pleading and that secret is in her eyes again, bare, but still locked away.

You weakly nod, and she clasps your hand excitedly. ". . .Okay."

The way she beams is worth it, you think.

You're being pulled out of the diner, and you have to break away for a moment, explaining that you have to tell Joyce you're going out, and you still have to pick up the mess you left in the alley with the homeless lady.

"Jane Doe?" Max beams, following you back inside. "Is that her name?"

"That's what I call her," you answer. Shyly, you admit, "Because of the shirt you wore the day we met."

Max nearly stumbles in surprise—as it is, she jolts into a halt. "My shirt? The pink one?"

You nod, and turn your head away for a moment. "Is that weird? I just—I remembered that 'Jane Doe' is what people call others who don't have an identity—or John Doe. Like when someone ends up with amnesia and they don't know what the person's name is."

You're rambling.

Max is fighting back giggles and shakes her head. "It isn't weird," she insists. "It's cool. It's nice to know my choice of fashion helped you name someone."

You groan, and tell Joyce, who's bussing a table, that you're going out to help Max with some photo shots. Joyce looks up in surprise, and stares at you hard, but kindly, in a way that shows her disbelief.

"You're picking up your camera again, hun?" Joyce asks. "About damned time." When Max slowly nods, Joyce grins, her expression very closely resembling a mischievous Chloe.

And then she apologizes for her language. "You get on now, kiddos." She tells you that she can cover you, especially since you're not working for money anyhow, and she thanks you for the helping hand. She pushes you out the door despite your protests that you have to get the dirty dishes from the alley. You sigh, and realize you've just given Joyce another burden.

Max nudges you. "Ready Freddy?"

"What?" You turn to stare at her, before you realize it's just a phrase and drop your head in a nod with a laugh. "I mean, yeah. Let's go."

You and Max exit the diner, both of you feeling vaguely excited, but you're kind of nervous too, while Max has that extra skip in her step as she entwines her fingers with yours with what you feel is reckless ease. You don't know how she can just go around grabbing stranger's hands, but you consider it as just another thing you don't understand about people in general.

You have to smile when she squeezes your hand in her excitement, animatedly speaking about the location she's taking you to, and how it'd highlight some of your features, making you blush hotly and groan self-consciously.

* * *

She guides you to some section of the woods with curling land, hills that rise and fall thickly, but also sharply. You pick up your feet to climb them, and she takes you to a creek steeped between the 'V' of two knolls. There's a log tossed across it to the other side, and the edges of the creek rise high up from the water, so if you fall into it, the sides would probably reach up to your waist.

She gestures to it all with a nerdy flourish. "Welcome," she says in a grand way, "to our playground."

You shake your head. "Dork. So, what d'ya need me to do? Or where do you need me to be?" You're not familiar with being a model, so you look to her for instruction.

Max tilts her head. "Play, of course."

"Uh."

A laugh. "I like candid shots the best. Shots that aren't staged, really. I just need you to roam about, talk to me if you want, or just go all broody. I won't tell you when I take a shot, but you'll know from the click."

You nod uncertainly. "I. . . guess I can do that? I'll try."

You shuffle your shoulders, and then Max sort of gives you a look. You walk around tensely, and Max fiddles with her camera, but there aren't any clicks for a while. Finally, she tries to spark conversation to distract you from what you two are really doing out here.

"So. . ." she starts. You worry about the smirk forming on her face. "I saw the looks you gave Chloe."

You stumble, and there's a loud CLICK! that makes you groan. There's another when you turn around, red-faced. She shakes out both of the shots, a pleased expression on her face as she runs her eyes over your face in the photo.

"Got the hots for my pirate BFF?"

"No," you deny unconvincingly, looking chagrined.

To her credit, Max doesn't look mad. The thing is though, is that looks could be deceiving, so you stay on guard, with the ridiculous thought that  _Maybe she brought me out here to kill me for crushing on her punk._

Max raises an eyebrow, finger near the metaphorical trigger of her camera. "I smell a liar." she teases lightly, before reassuring you. "Don't be scared. I'm not mad or anything."

You stare at her, before twisting guiltily. "I dunno. Maybe? I know she's attractive, I guess."

"You guess?" Max laughs disbelievingly.

"I know." you repeat, firmer, blushing hotly. Another CLICK! and you glare, but that makes her take another. "Seriously?"  _What a little shit,_  you smile, and regret it when she taps the button.

She shakes out three more photos and pretends to look lost. "I can't help it if you're photogenic."

You narrow your eyes, before balance yourself on the edge of the creek after handing Max your phone so she can put it in her bag. You know how clumsy you are. You stare into the waters. You're scanning them for ripples, anything that might signal the presence of snakes, or other creatures dwelling along the surface of the creek. "Anyways," you continue. "I wouldn't know if I had the 'hots' per se. . . maybe she just intimidates me."

"Right." Max drags out the vowel, and you turn your head to glare. Another Polaroid slides out. Max doesn't even look fazed. She sticks the photo into her bag and continues, following your form closely, waiting for the next shot. She moves along the creek, searching for another angle. She takes her shoulder bag off and sets it aside.

Meanwhile, you're now wobbling on the log, and it's still in the middle of winter, so a fall into the creek water would definitely  _not_  be in order, hopefully.

Max is quiet for a little bit. Eventually, she finds more things to say. "How come we never noticed you at school?"

You shrug, and it upsets your balance for a moment. You stretch out your arms to correct it. "I'm good at keeping to myself? I didn't really have anyone to hang out since last year."

"What do you mean?"

You go quiet.

Max thinks the expression on your face would make a great shot, the darkness in it, but she remembers Jefferson and his words, and cringes. There's something to you that seems familiar to Max. It's like the feeling she gets from comparing a past photo of a location to a future one of the same place—something that ages, but still strikes you as something you've seen before.

You stop, catching Max's attention, and you open your mouth to say something when the suddenness of your movement tilts you off balance. There's a splash, and Max can't help but push the button and capture the sight of you soaked to your bones, yelping. Then another one of you; it's one where you're glaring, shivering with gritted teeth to prevent them from chattering, and no trace of the darkness lingering on your face.

Max is doubled over laughing. You pick yourself up, splashing in the creek, and make your way to the edge. She snaps a pic of you pulling yourself up, looking ready to murder, and then she bolts up the hill after putting down the camera when you begin the motions that signal a chase. She yells loudly, and the sharp adrenaline from your fall kicks in, letting you stay on her tail even as she climbs the hill.

"You're mine, Caulfield! When I catch you, you're going to die by the tips of my fingers!"

Max actually turns around, running backwards, to stare at you wide-eyed, but laughing hysterically. "Kinky!"

You sputter indignantly, but that momentary lapse in her speed lets you get within a foot of her before you stumble over a dip in the hill. With shock etched onto your face, you fall into Max, and it sends the both of you falling forward, and then rolling backward, spiraling down the hill you both have just run up.

"WHY, OH MY DOG!" Max screams in the tangle of rolling limbs, and you both roll into the dip and go flying into the creek.

Needless to say, both of you are going to catch colds and Joyce is  _not_ going to be happy. You and Max scowl at each other but you laugh first because she looks like a soaked puppy. She quirks a helpless grins at you, biting her lip the keep her mirth inside.

"Well," you muse out loud. "I guess I don't have to tickle you anymore."

Max snorts.

* * *

The trip back is cold, horrendously so. You both sniffle, and you probably sneeze more times than you've had when you thought a messy fight with flour between you and Alexis was a good idea. You smile nostalgically, and Max pulls out her camera to take another picture.

"Do you always take so many pictures?" you ask, not unkindly, but genuinely curious.

Max smiles, eyes watching her step. "Used to."

You don't ask, because you get the feeling it has something to do with Jefferson. After finding out about him, it must have been hard not looking at a camera and not being reminded of him. Instead, you shimmy closer, and almost-hesitantly throw an arm over her shoulder.

"If you ever need a clumsy model, I'm your gal," you offer.

It makes her laugh. It's a nice sound—almost a repeat of the laughing she did with Chloe that day. Your lips twitch into a dorky grin, and you're about to drop your arm when she grabs your hand and leans into you tiredly.

"I'm leeching off your body warmth."

You raise an eyebrow. "You do know I need that warmth more than you, considering I fell, y'know,  _twice_?"

"Both incidents of which were your fault." she counters, rolling her eyes.

You sigh playfully, but lean into her too, secretly reveling in the human contact. Your heads bump together, but not painfully, and she grabs your hand. You've missed such innocent touches—it's been a while since you've been comfortable with such familiarity. How you can stand it though, between these girls who are basically complete strangers to you, is up for contemplation.

You both take on a sort of stumbling gait as you return her to Blackwell Academy. When you get there, the two of you separate with a wet, cold hug, dripping in the girl's dorms corridor.

"See you, Caulfield." you bite out jokingly.

"Right back at you," she snarls back nasally—hair dripping, but rarely—with a grin, and says your name before saying 'bye'.

You slip down the stairs to go back home after escorting Max to her room, taking your time and wishing desperately that you'd soon have enough to pay for your own room, because it'd be a hell of a lot greater than being at home.

The trek home is calming, but disappointing, because you're going home. You turn on your street, your house a bit pushed out the way in comparison to most houses. You don't have many neighbors. The Christmas lights still up even though it's January because your parents still haven't gotten to ordering youto do it.

You enter your house and immediately miss the chill. You don't bother saying you're home.

Max sends you a message once you're in your room, changing out of your wet clothes and into your pajamas.

 **PolaroidHipster:** _Did you get home okay roofgirl?_

 **roofgirl:**   _SO MUCH UGH_

 **roofgirl:**   _Chloe told you? URGH THAT PUNK. But yeah, got home safe. Thanks for asking. :)_

**PolaroidHipster:** _No prob. Keep warm and try not to get sick, or Kate would rally a crusade to strike me down. xD_

You can't help but snicker, eyebrows raised in surprise and amusement at the idea of Kate in armor, wielding a cross-hilted sword to smite down her hero Max Caulfield all because you got sick.

Your phone buzzes an hour later, after Max disappears from social connections to tackle homework she's procrastinated on. Once your sidled in bed after fixing a quick snack and hot cocoa and coolly ignoring your guardians arguing with each other, you unlock your phone to see messages from Chloe.

 **Hot Giant:** _YOU WORK WITH MY MOM AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME? hella offended, roofer_

You laugh, and given Chloe's personality, you feel like you should've expected this. With a quiet thrill from having Chloe as a friend, you type back a reply.

 **roofgirl:**   _Sorry! I thought you already knew that. I've been working for her a month after school started. . ._

 **Hot Giant:**   _it's fine. . . i nvr asked mom about work rly. mayb she mentioned u and i just dont remember. actually, she did say smthn about an employee. . ._

 **roofgirl:**   _I don't get paid though? So maybe it was someone else.  
_  
**Hot Giant:** _ehhh whateves. so wyd_

You shift on your bed, eyeing the small TV in the corner and the shelf full of videos games, all well-earned, paid by the paper in your own pockets. You sniffle, and decide to be snarky.

**roofgirl:** _Texting a punk._

Pausing, you add a winking emoji into your reply, and wait for Chloe's.

**Hot Giant:** _NO EMOJI. but srsly, what's up? u have fun with mad max? i herd you fell again._

You sit back, resting your back on the wall and your butt on the pillows, trying to decipher the message. Was Chloe fishing for information? Despite wanting to think otherwise, you're suspicious. You've dealt with enough people jealous of you having a friendly relationship before, and you got the feeling that Chloe and Max definitely had something more between them. Sighing, you decided to be honest.

**roofgirl:** _I did. Twice. :( I had fun too, though. I didn't expect to - not that Max doesn't seem cool and all. It's just been awhile since i hung out with anyone. I'm probably going to get sick from falling in the creek._

**Hot Giant:** _Stop. EMOJI-ING._

**Hot Giant:** _and what do u mean_

You glare at the message. You had hoped, vainly, that Chloe wouldn't ask, but also knew that she would. You shimmy down your bed and under the covers. You contemplated answering honestly this time. What you type is hoest, but vague.

 **roofgirl:** _Nothing. Just been a socially distant weenie for a while before you guys. I've got to go to bed soon, though, so I'm going to take a shower and sleep. Talk to you later. :P_

You lock your phone, and watch it flash with Chloe's messages as you rest in your bed, on your side. You think about getting up to actually take that shower, but you decide it could wait 'til morning.

 **Hot Giant** :  _duuude, no, come back_

**Hot Giant:** _i can tell when someone's holdin back on me. tell me. what happened._

**Hot Giant:** _i'm gonna bug u in the morning if u dnt answer me now_

**Hot Giant:** _FINE. but i'm gunning 4 u now roofy. gonna get me some answers. u cant just leave a girl curious. txt u l8er_

You sign in relief. Five seconds pass, and Chloe decides that it's "later". She texts your name in various states of grammar and capitalization, repeatedly. You groan and turn on your side, grabbing your phone as it flashes like its at a rave. In a moment of weakness spawned by your happy day and your nostalgia, you text Justin that you actually felt like skateboarding again and wanted to meet up later. You glance at the old skateboard in the corner of your room, worn with use, but also with the lack of it, if that makes any sense.

He texts back only a second later, ecstatic and already forming plans you're willing to agree with.

You sniff, feeling stuffy, and turn your phone off. You nuzzle under the covers, and it takes a while for you to sleep because you're already impatient for tomorrow—but your inability to sleep is mostly because  _they're_  still arguing.

You sniff again, and pretend it's quiet. You think about your phone, and the flashes, and the person on the other side of it.

You think Chloe looks frustrated, and you fall asleep to the image of her imprinted on your eyelids, wishing you had that kind of blue color on hand.

* * *

You wake to over sixty messages. Some of them are when Chloe's sober, and others are when she's probably high, because you've known Justin long enough to tell when he's as drugged up as a monkey left in a pharmacy. You snort at her, and her contemplation about her ceiling being similar to Alaska's mountains, and her walls like alpacas. It was very confusing, and you worried, but besides hinting that she'd be better off without drugs and that you'd feel better if she stopped, you couldn't do much. People only really accepted help when they admitted they had a problem in the first place—one they couldn't handle.

Your nose is red when you look in the mirror after your shower, probably from a cold. You ignore it and throw on your most comfortable public clothes, and snatch your skateboard up, ready for classes at Blackwell, a caffeinated drink in one hand because you're running low on energy from your late night.

You go through all your classes, only having one with Max and two with Kate, and both being amicable and still friendly, trying to be social with you. You didn't think it'd last this long, but you bask in it.

When your last class lets out, you rush out, and semi-enthusiastically greet Justin and Trevor.

"Hey, ready to thrash Swervy?" Justin asks in an easy manner.

You frown playfully. "Seriously, Justin? How long am I going to be 'Swervy'?"

He shrugs. "Until you get yourself into some other sick scene. That was the shit—I dunno how you got out of that without hitting a single obstacle. Everyone knows how clumsy you are."

You punch his shoulder. "Whatever, you ready to wreck some rails? It's been a while for me, so I might break something." you warn him.

"I don't see why it matters; I'm not paying your hospital bills." he grins.

"Real sweet, jerk."

You and the other skaters mount your boards, and make your way to the stairs leading towards the street. You lower yourself, before hopping, bringing your skateboard with you, and you meet the rail easily. The scraping that results is pleasing to the ears.

You lose any tenseness that lingered, and welcome the familiar motions with ease, until you hear a truck, beat up and rusted, skid onto the street. You blink, seeing a flash of blue hair in the driver's seat.

You stare at it for all of two seconds.

This was a mistake, and your lack of focus sends you flying into two blondes at the bottom who had their earbuds blasting rap so loud you could hear the slang dripping into your own head.

"Shit!" you shriek, because you think you could've righted yourself if they weren't already in your way, or at might have at least hit the ground on your two feet.

The pixie-haired blonde jerks, and the one in booty-shorts squeals.

You fly into the one wearing cashmere, and you land on her in a painful daze, having knocked your head sometime when you made contact with her. Your breath is gone, and she's heaving too.

You flinch at the feeling of fingers on your rear, squeezing experimentally, and you look up in time to see her glance down in disoriented pain. Her hands fly away in flash and you're pushed off as she collects her breath to finally scream in diva-like rage. 

"What the fucking hell!"

You can only cringe as you realized who you've fallen on.

The one and only, Victoria Chase.

Your stomach drops as her stupidly perfect face bears down at you.

_Oooh, shiiit._


	3. The Weaboo Dip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So you've slammed into the resident bully of Blackwell and knocked her to the ground. Prepare the funeral, and pick a sad song, 'cause this is gonna end in tragedy.
> 
> P.S.  
> She grabbed your butt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes Victoria! And some Pricefield parenting. It's hard for me to channel Victoria, but hopefully it's not too horrible?

_Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh sonuva—!_  
  
You're ramrod stiff on the ground long enough to hear those thoughts echo in your head, but then instincts overtake you, and when you see Victoria standing, tended by her lackey Taylor Christensen, you panic. Victoria's face is red with rage, and that angry mark might be from your skull meeting hers.   
  
Since Jefferson, she's sort of been on and off with her attitude, and hearing about what happened to Kate has mellowed her out, but that doesn't mean she's lost that sharp bone in her body that's ready to shank someone's self-confidence.

She's opening her mouth, cocking her verbal gun in preparation to rip you a new one, and you yelp, stumbling, and the world spins for a second. Your ears are ringing.

"Get back here, you cunt!" she sounds more surprised than anything, with only a hint of anger now, probably because you're fleeing the scene of the crime.  
  
You're pretty sure you just yelled sorry, but it's hard to tell, and you're too busy bolting to take note of her reaction. You think you're swaying but you've snatched up your skateboard and when you actually start to calm down you're blocks away from Blackwell. The pressure in your head makes it hard to focus. Eventually you just kind of slip off, trip, and land on the ground in a daze. You don't remember much of how you got here anymore, sitting on a street corner laid up like you just got shot.

You rub your aching head. When you pick yourself up, you do it sort of sluggishly. You take a look at your surroundings. There's a flag on one of the houses, waving without a care. You stare at the stars for a minute, trying to figure out how much shit you're in, but you just can't. You start walking down the sidewalk.

It takes about a minute to realize you're being followed and you turn your head to see the truck that caused all of this driving slowly beside you. Your eyes are stuck on it, and the driver, who has this slow, lazy grin on her face and an eyebrow raised in bemusement. The freckled passenger starts snickering. Their expressions turn to concern when they catch sight of your face, and Chloe stops the truck with a, "Hold up, Roofy!"

She backs up and sets her vehicle in front of the house with the waving flag, and jumps out carelessly. Max follows more slowly behind her puppy-like companion while you're still standing like a dingus on the sidewalk. Your skateboard is held loosely in your limp hand.

The tall girl slows to a halt in front of you, and grabs your head with purpose. You blush at her. Her fingernails are painted blue. 

"What the fuck happened to your forehead, sistah? Did you fall again?" Chloe asks, whistling lowly, brushing her thumb on a knot you didn't know you had.

You hiss at her in pain, and she winces, uttering a low apology.

"Yeah," you answer. "I fell again, but on Victoria."  
  
"Chase?" Chloe's eyes are wide and she grins like a kid when you nod. "Damn, I bet you knocked her flat on her prissy ass! I wish I was there."

"Chloe!" Max has that scolding tone in her voice, but she's amused too.

"What? I'm just saying what anyone else would!"

You smile awkwardly, thinking about butts and how Victoria touched yours, albeit on accident. "I bet a lot of people would."  
  
Chloe laughs. "See Max?"

Chloe grabs your arm, and leads your stumbling, confused self to what you guess is her house. You're blinking rapidly. "What are you doing?"  
  
"You need to put ice on that sucker." Chloe drawls.

"It does look pretty bad," Max comments. "And you've been swaying since we first saw you."

You shake your head and try to tug back your arm. "I'm fine. It's probably just a small concussion."

Chloe stops, and they both stare at you. You stare back in confusion like a kid told to wait without knowing the reason.

"Exactly how many times do you have to fall before minor concussions sound like a normal thing?" Max asks in bewilderment, glancing at Chloe for the answer, rather than you.  
  
Chloe shakes her head. "Too many."  
  
"Guys, I'm fine!"  
  
Max gets behind you and pushes you into into Chloe's dining room. Chloe pulls out a chair and points at it with a clear command in her eyes. You sit, feeling exhausted. "Guys—"  
  
"Tylenol?" Max asks. She turns to you. "You're not allergic to that are you?"  
  
"No, but—"

Chloe nods to Max before bolting upstairs. "I got it." 

Max examines the knot closer. "So, how exactly did this happen? And how pissed was Victoria?"  
  
You shrug. "I was skateboarding," Max has an expression of incredulity on her face. "with Justin and Trevor—I know what you're thinking, but I'm actually good on a board!— and when I hit the rails she didn't see me coming. I hit her and I guess I knocked my head against hers?"

"You guess?"

You dutifully ignore the taunt in your friend's voice. "Anyways, I ran before she could yell at me—she looked ready to get her rage _on_. I'm going back to Black _hell_ , I bet."

Chloe comes down and rattles the cabinets in the kitchen. You glare at Max even as Chloe pushes a glass of water into your hands and pushes a pill into your hands. You grunt and give in, feeling belligerent because they're treating you like a child.

"That wasn't so hard." Max says, ruffling your hair, and you bare your teeth and growl. It comes out in a way that makes them laugh.

You spend enough time with them that Joyce comes home and fusses over you, and David walks in for lunch. Joyce tells you not to come in this weekend, and you protest vehemently, but there's no changing a Price's mind, you suppose. 

Chloe gives both you and Max a ride back to your respective places of residence. She takes Max to Blackwell Academy first, and then you to your house, teasing you all the way. Your palms sweat from being alone with her, but it ends too soon, or maybe just in time because you might combust from her presence.

When you get home, your _father_ is outside and actually taking down the Christmas lights himself. Chloe looks at him, then back at you. 

"Who's he?"  
  
"My dad." you reply dully.

She shifts in her seat. "You're shitting me. He looks nothing like you—" Chloe stops and twists her head to stare at you when your _mom_ comes out. It takes a minute for her to connect the thoughts in her head. Her eyes convey her nerves. "Is he, I mean—are you?"  
  
You nod.

"Shit." Chloe looks upset. She doesn't ask about it and she doesn't apologize either. "Are they good to you?"

You shrug and get out, leaning into the rolled down window to answer and say your goodbyes.  
  
"They're alright."

* * *

You feel like an ant under a looking glass during a blistering hot sun, the way Victoria Chase burns holes into you all throughout the day. The mark on her face is gone, but that might be makeup. 

You wonder if her head is hurting as much as yours.

You try to take it easy—you don't do anything to physically strenuous, and you've upped your attempts to stopper your clumsiness, at least for now. The Price's and Max were adamant that you take it easy with that known resting on your crown.

You're in Physics when she slides into the chair next to you when the teacher says the students need to make a video recording the making of a catapult and the results when put in use. You tense in your seat, and Victoria Chase is definitely not smiling at you, but she isn't snarling like a jaguar ready to pounce either.

She glances at your bruised forehead.

"You're my partner." she decides for the both of you, and tells the teacher so while you're too speechless to say  _No, she's going to kill me!_

She smirks after you jerk your head to her, eyes wide in panic. "Oh, come off it, I'm not going to bite."  
  
Too bad that you actually just pictured that. Your cheeks blossom red.

"You ran pretty quickly after running me over," she says, drumming her manicured fingers on your desk in a way that gives you a sense of finality. Her eyes sharpen into a glare. "Didn't even let me get a word in, really."  
  
_You mean a scream._ You wince, and she leans back, looking satisfied.   
  
"But I suppose you did say sorry." she muses. You want to shake your head, like you're watching yourself in a movie and telling yourself not to fall for that act. You groan internally when she tacks on, "That's not enough though."  
  
"What do you want?" you ask quietly, aware of the other students glancing at you. You know they're wondering what colors you're going to be buried in.

"Time." 

Victoria doesn't smile at you. She doesn't.

* * *

You're in her dorm room, fidgeting anxiously. She lets you sit on her bed, and you're too nervous to ask for the chair at her desk. When she sits on the bed too, you're  _really not_ ready.

She leans back on her hands, which are stretched out behind her. She actually looks soft in the dim lighting and you look away to ignore that.

"—was hilarious."  
  
You should've tuned in earlier or put less effort in trying to ignore her. "What?" you ask, and you manage not to flinch when she glares at you this time.  
  
"Your face," she says slowly, like she had to spell it out for you. "was hilarious after you stood up, you skatepark trash."

It might be a bad idea, but you laugh. It gets awkward when she simply stares at you. Her eyes were half-lidded.

"I haven't heard that one before," you comment, trying to brush off the nervous tension. You finally look away from her, but she shifts to hold your attention.

"It really pissed me off," she says offhandedly. "You ignored me. You _ran_ away."  
  
You focus on her, trying to find a reply because she's taking a while to continue. "You looked scary as shit—can you blame me?" You look to the side, and something peculiar in the trash. Something blue.

Victoria huffs, a kind of breath that says she almost laughed. "Maybe not. But I've never seen someone so scared of me before, not like that."  
  
You distractedly reply, "People with power are scary." because your eyes are locked on the special edition, unopened  _Blueberry_ figurine, tossed in the trash like an undesirable. A present?  
  
Victoria notices that you aren't fully present in the conversation and you can feel the glare start up. Then she follows your gaze, and you turn around when you hear a note of panic in her tone as she tries to play off the presence of a  _Blueberry_ figurine in her trash.  
  
"That's just. . . something an ex-friend gave me. It's so fucking ridiculous, right? Like I'd like such weird kiddy shit." 

You turn to her, and feel something in the way of confidence forming in you. Victoria's eyes are shifty, looking away and back. She's a bad liar.

The question you're about to ask can make or break you, you think. And you have a good feeling about it.

"Victoria Chase, are you an otaku?"  
  
Victoria stares at you wide-eyed. "What the fuck? No!" she denies.  
  
You smile as she looks increasingly off-balanced and you point to one of her selfies on the wall,  or more specifically the background, now that you're looking for signs of an otaku. "Really? That  _Black Butler_  poster says otherwise."  
  
Her head swings around to see the photo fast enough to make you fear whiplash. "And you're acting pretty defensive, too!" you accuse, growing bolder.  
  
Her jaw tightens as she turns around to glare at you, and then she sort of slumps, tossing her head back with an aggravated sigh. "Fine, fine, but if you tell anyone about this—"  
  
"You'll bury me alive? Don't worry, I won't tell."  
  
She huffs, dropping her head to rub at her temples. "If I knew how much trouble. . ." she mutters, before peeking from underneath her hands to stare at you. "So. . . Ciel and Sebastian?"  
  
You choke on a laugh. "I'm more of a yuri kinda gal." you admit shyly.  
  
Victoria does smile at you, this time. 

* * *

It's a surprise to everyone when you're still relatively intact, or perhaps, it's more a surprise that you're beaming and Victoria doesn't look like a cat with its tail being pulled the next day at school. You two work on the catapult, forming it with blocks of wood, strings, hooks, and springs, talking about the project normally and joking beneath your breaths about anime and manga. You toss theories back and forth, opinions on certain couples and on situations about anime ranging from _Black Butler_ to _Puella Magi Magica Madoka_.

You two work in her dorm room too, but Taylor still glares at you and asks Victoria why she's hanging out with a street leech like you, especially when you rammed into her.

"She knows her place. She's my lab partner," Victoria says easily. "and she knows her  _stuff._ She's not what you think, T, so back off."

Taylor looks like she's ready to argue, but Victoria's look silences her and she's forced to reevaluate you.

You think about that sometimes. 

It's just your luck that the two of you spark rumors, especially on the day you're supposed to finish the project and video.

You're going to visit Victoria to wrap up the project after walking Kate and Max back to their rooms from a tea date that they invited you to. When you turn to grab the knob of Victoria's door, you find that the blonde had already pulled it open, because she ends up tripping into you.

Her height made it difficult to maneuver. Somehow, you ended up in a position that looked like you were lowering her into a dip at the climax of a passionate dance when you tried to grab her and stop her from hitting the floor. The stare-off between you and her lasted all of a second before your strength gave out and the both of you fell. You both hit the dorm floors with a thud, piled up outside Victoria's room. 

"Why do you always end up on top of me," Victoria complains, her arms wrapped around your neck.

You huffing, red-faced. "Don't ask me," you mutter, trying not to think about how close her face is to yours.  
  
There's a flash of a camera, and you look up and gape at Max, who gives you a thumbs up and waves the incriminating Polaroid about playfully. "Good going, Roofy!"

"You tweed hipster shit!" Victoria yells, and several girls peek out their dorms to see you two tangled up.   
  
Juliet gapes as she leans out of her room, and you can see the reporter in her already taking in the prime gossip material you've landed yourself in, or rather, _on_.

You make to get up, too embarrassed to stay in sight anymore, but for some reason Victoria's arms are still wrapped around your shoulders.

"Vic," you hiss, trying to tug your arms out from underneath her body. "up!"

"Shut the fuck up! You think I want you on top of me?" she retorts, shifting and pulling her hands back to rest on your collarbone.

"Wow," Dana whistles. "Didn't know you had it in you." she comments towards you, winking. "I hope it's as good as it looks."  
  
"It's not—"

Victoria shoves you off roughly.  
  
"You're all dead!" she screams, cheeks flaming, scrambling to her feet. "Max, you little shit, give me that picture!"

Max makes like a deer and bounds away before Victoria and her long legs can snatch her hipster self up.

Needless to say, rumors take over the school (even the teachers eye you two) and you gain the reputation of a player.

Max gives Victoria a copy of the photo.


	4. Kate Wears Sweatpants, You Straddle a Hipster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter full of grunts and entangled limbs.
> 
> Actually, not much happens.
> 
> Very light-hearted, no plot, and short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been gone so long. Had a lot of issues recently, personal and family wise (family-wise, I had my grandmother be diagnosed with breast cancer and my aunt pass away from lymphoma). Now my grandma is being taken care of by the hospice that visits her—she's got approximately 6 to 8 months. Depression has kicked in, but I have the marvelous Smacky (my fellow sinner who provides the ideas for this fic) here with me to keep me sane. And, while I just wasn't feeling up to it, but I miss this story and I miss you guys. So, here's this, and I'm sorry it took so long to get out.
> 
> EDIT months after the above note was written: My grandma died months ago, so I didn't update (or rather, finish this chapter). Now, I am. Sorry if it's not the greatest.

Your alarm blares loudly. You count the seconds.  
  
_One, two, three, four—_  
  
A furious knocking erupts from beyond your door, the pounding coming from a thick fist. "Get out of bed! You better be awake."  
  
Twisting around to glare at the door, your only shield from your irritable guardians, rather than the device howling on your bed table, you call back in a purposefully snide tone. "Of course Father, I'm awake."  
  
"Don't give me that tone, girl. Turn off that damn alarm!"  
  
You growl under your breath and reach out to slide a plastic lever situated on your clock back. The click from your success resulted in relative silence, if you discounted the mammoth-worthy steps of Liam as he tread downstairs. You wonder if he sometimes takes longer in the bathroom across the hall, just so that he can storm to your bedroom the moment the ugly morning song that everyone dreads starts playing. You think it's sad anyways that he makes waking you up so vital that he'll badger you about it the moment you come home from school.  
  
Swinging your legs over the edge, you stand up in your striped socks. You can't remember if they're a matching set or not, but you look down and find your answer. Having solved that little mystery, you rub your forehead and drag your hand across your face, scrubbing sleep out of your eyes. You stumble to you dresser and fish through it for an outfit you feel like wearing. You settle on your preferred color and go from there to dress yourself. You go about your morning routine, taking care of your hygiene and the bags under your eyes. You fumble for your skateboard dazedly, not bothering to go down the kitchen because you don't feel like fishing for breakfast in the cupboards or the fridge. Liam and Mel already ate—they never make enough for you.  
  
You grab your phone, yawning and nearly walking into your bedroom door because you kept your eyes close too long to stretch your jaws. You nearly fall down the stairs, but you're not concerned. You fell plenty of times down them already from your own clumsiness, and you know how to break your fall instead of your bones. You scrub at your eyes and check your messages for anything of note as you exit your house.  
  
**Princess_Ciel:** _THERE ARE PICTURES EVERYWHERE_  
  
**Princess_Ciel:** _THAT WANNABE REPORTER PUT IT IN THE SCHOOL NEWSPAPER_  
  
_photo.jpg attached_  
  
You blinked, and clicked the icon for the jpg, waiting for it to load. You blushed furiously when it showed the incriminating position Victoria and you had been in yesterday. Jesus Christ—whoops, sorry, Kate—it looks like we're getting down and dirty!  
  
And indeed it did, for it caught Victoria's arms wrapped around you, your face above hers, wide-eyed in what looked like adoration, but was actually pure terror. The tense atmosphere that had befallen you two looked rather sensual and intimate from the perspective of the photographer. Finally, your eyes found the headline for the gossip column of the student-ran newspaper, and you choked on a gasp so thickly that you started coughing in the driveway of your house.  
  
**VICTORIA CHASE, QUEEN BEE FALLING FOR HONEY?**   
  
_Oh my god. . . I'm so dead. Victoria is undoubtedly PISSED. . . and HONEY? REALLY, Juliet? Do I look like something off of HuniePop?_  
  
You barely managed to pull yourself together to look at the rest of Victoria's texts. Finally, you send her a reply.  
  
**Yuri_Gal:** _Whoops._  
  
With a shudder as you close out of the messaging app, you wonder exactly what the Victoria plans to do about it, but if you don't get a move on you'll be late to school and risking getting stung by said "Queen Bee."  
  
Jumping on your board, you flee from one bad situation to one that is potentially worse. The rolling wheels clatter against the cement, lulling you into a state of calm. The world is moving, but you are still, letting it pass by you in a slow current of color and routine.  
  
Why are you trying to be poetic?  
  
The bell rings for first period just as you roll up to the entrance. You dart inside, through the increasing swarm of students from the cafeteria, and to your class before the tardy bell rings. You didn't notice the snickers at first, nor the eyes honing in on you like a shark to blood, but when you sit down, all faces are turned towards you.  
  
You cringe as one noticeably looks up from a newspaper—the newspaper that has you dead center on the cover, on top of Victoria.  
  
"You go, girl!" someone whispers to you.  
  
You sink down into your seat, already desiring the day to be over.  
  
_Goddammit, Juliet._

* * *

When you see Max, you waste no time barreling towards her.  
  
"You evil weenie!" you hiss, a little exasperated. "I've gotten stared at like an exotic, endangered animal all day because of you!"  
  
Max smiles sheepishly. "Blame Chloe. She was very enthusiastic about putting one over on Victoria."  
  
"Well, she put one over on me, too," you grumble, but you can see Max's predicament. Chloe was well-known for her persistence, or rather, bull-headedness. She probably wasn't thinking it through, what it meant for you and not just for Victoria. "Victoria's been gunning for me whenever she sees me. I'm half-tempted to skip the class where I'm partners with her just because she may just literally kill me."  
  
"Yikes," Max offers, putting a hand on your arm. Her thumb rubs over it and you can feel the warmth of her hand through your jacket. "For what it's worth, I really am sorry for the trouble the picture is causing you."  
  
You let out a breath. "It's fine, actually. It's far from the worst thing to ever happen to me."  
  
The touch on your arm grows into a near grasp, pressure deepening. "Sounds like there's a story there."  
  
"Sorry, but it's not nearly as interesting as you might think," you lie.  
  
Max gets the hint.  
  
"If you say so."  
  
The pressure vanishes.

* * *

Victoria doesn't actually kill you. All she really does is gripe at you for avoiding her, and then go on to complain about Juliet and Max. You're too tired to incriminate Chloe for the crime as well, but it doesn't matter because she includes the blue giant in her rant as well.  
  
The curses she says are enough to make you let out an undignified snort. The sound that escapes you makes you blush.  
  
Victoria smirks, head propped on a hand as she watches you press a hand to your mouth in embarrassment.  
  
The last bell rings and you feel the tension leave you as Max and Kate invite you to some meet up at Chloe's.  
  
"Uh, twister?" you repeat, unintelligently.  
  
"Yep." Chloe replies, her expression perfectly mimicking a mischievous villain whose plan is coming to fruition. She's settled at the dinner table, fiddling with the very same box containing the game that you're questioning.  
  
With a tilt of her head, Max lets loose a grin that stretches across her freckled face and asks you, "Up for it?"  
  
You glance at Kate, trying to imagine the girl playing twister. With the current outfit she's wearing, it's impossible.  
  
Kate catches your look and smiles. "I have sweats in my bag."  
  
"Oh," you blush, flustered at being so obvious and the thought of Kate in sweatpants. "Well, I guess?"

* * *

"Your. . . turn," Max grunts out, squinting with the strain. She's stretched out beneath you, left and right hands at the two red and blue circles at the end of the mat. Her left foot, in the air, is crossed at the ankle of her right foot, which was settled on the furthest yellow she could reach. You were leaning over her torso, one hand hovering and the left pressed on the green circle on the other side of Max, both of your feet resting on a red circle. "Spin the arrow, Kate."  
  
Kate, who was currently getting friendly with Chloe's rear end, nodded and reached over and flicked the arrow on the spinner.  
  
"Spinner's choice, left foot." Kate announces, hair disheveled and looking up to survey you and Max's positions, trying to come up with a move. She's in sweats, looking more casual than you've ever seen her, and it stirs up feelings you're definitely not ready to deal with. "Place your left foot on the green beside the hand that's already on that row and. . . um, meow."  
  
"Meow?" you can't help but ask, turning your head to Kate. "Really?"  
  
With a flash of her teeth, rendering you speechless, she replies, "Yes."  
  
Chloe snickers, bent over with all four ends of her limbs pressed against a circle. Kate's foot is set on a circle between Chloe's arms. "Hurry up, pussy."  
  
"Shut up," you shoot back with a laugh, moving to awkwardly straddle Max. The freckled girl watches you with a criminal's smirk that makes you turn red.  
  
"Well?" the hipster pushes, wriggling her eyebrows despite her legs quivering from the burden of trying to keep one foot off the mat.  
  
". . . Mmmrow." you reluctantly let out. "Your next, Kate. Pass me the spinner."  
  
She does so, and you set it awkwardly on Max's stomach. You spin it. "Okay. . . right hand, red."  
  
Kate shifts, letting out a little huff of exertion as she moves her hand to the space beside your foot. Max trembles beneath you, gritting her teeth. You think she may fall, soon, if she doesn't get to put that foot down. "Chloe, your turn. . . right hand in the air."  
  
The punk shifts, lifting the hand in question off the plastic.  
  
Another flick of the arrow has you giving Max relief. "Max, left foot on blue."  
  
"Yesss," she hisses, ready to get off it. She moves to obey, wiggling between your legs. She moves further down the mat and you find her now eye level with your chest. "Nice view," she jokes.  
  
"Thanks. Kate?" You move to pass the spinner to her, knowing that it's your move once more.  
  
Kate takes a moment, letting the arrow spin leisurely. "Right hand, blue."  
  
"Great," you mumble sarcastically, mimicking Chloe's original positioning and bending over fully, both hands and feet now occupying a circle.  
  
Eventually, Max ends up out, falling when one of her feet end up in the air again. Chloe nearly does the splits and ends up out, when Kate uproots her, reaching across her legs. When it's down to you and Kate, you're sore, tired and hopping on one foot as Max flicks the spinner. Kate is in a crab walk position a row across from you, trying to tone down her amusement at your exhaustion. "Spinner's choice, right foot."  
  
You groan weakly.  
  
"Put your foot on the green circle by Kate's head and. . . uh," Chloe, sensing Max's difficulting in coming up with a move, whispers in her ear. You frown half-heartedly at them, worrying for yourself, but say nothing. Eventually Chloe pulls away, throwing a shit-eating grin in your direction. Max face shifts into something resembling guilt and anticipation. "Twerk."  
  
You cringe. "Are you serious? Twerk?"  
  
"Eeyup. Get to it, Roofy."  
  
With great reluctance, you stop hopping and place your bare foot on the designated circle. With a deep breath, mortified, you begin wiggling your butt.  
  
The guffaws behind you make you growl, and after a second, you stop. "There—I twerked, you bunch of penises."  
  
Your poor attempt at cursing makes the laughter worse.  
  
The game goes on, and when your arms finally give out and you land on an elbow, Kate is declared the victor.


End file.
